


I Welcome Death On The Battlefield With(out) Glory

by crazychloe08



Series: angsty laurens/hamilton oneshots [1]
Category: 17th Century CE RPF, 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Death, F/M, Gay John Laurens, I cried multiple times while writing this, John Laurens Angst, John Laurens Dies, M/M, Martha Manning deserves justice, Past Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, So much angst, uhhhh i cant tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29229072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazychloe08/pseuds/crazychloe08
Summary: South Carolina, August 27, 1782
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, John Laurens & Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette, John Laurens & Martha Manning, John Laurens/Martha Manning
Series: angsty laurens/hamilton oneshots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2146194
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	I Welcome Death On The Battlefield With(out) Glory

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone (again). I posted this as part of my "Mr. Loverman" Laurens/Hamilton oneshot series, but I feel like the chapter I wrote for it needed to be separate idk why. It's still gonna be apart of that fic, but I decided to post it separate too :))))

August, 1782, South Carolina

Laurens rolled his shoulder back, straightening his spine as he felt battle loom over them. Any soldier in the continental army had developed this sixth sense, a sense that death and battle approached, but it never told when or where. 

It would be signs like the air tensing, or a certain rustling in the bushes, but nevertheless, Laurens could feel his men tensing also, preparing for a fight, and possibly death. 

He fought back a shudder as he carded a weak hand through his hair. 

Many of his men had asked him to stay behind, for he was still recovering from illness,  _ Tadeusz could handle this _ ! But Laurens had insisted he leave his sick bed, as another day in comfort and in peace made his nerves jingle, testing his patience to the frays and making him jittery and on edge.

It hadn’t been the same since he came back from France.

Some might suppose it would be the lack of action, they were correct, but the thirst for blood was a result of a needed distraction and a no longer need to hold himself back. 

It would have only been another day or so until he was fully recovered from the illness, a little skirmish wasn’t going to hurt him. Besides, when had received word that Gist was marching troops to Combahee River, after that British scum Leslie raided plantations, Laurens was already starved of action and thirsty for blood.

_ “Your bloodlust will lead you recklessly one day, my dear boy, and you will corner yourself into a situation you cannot fight your way out. Always hungry for glory”  _ An auburn with clear, violet eyes drifted into his memory. Dark nights spent scratching away with quills on paper until dawn, and the aftermath of battle tending to each other’s wounds.

Laurens would always be endearingly chided for his reckless endangerment of his life in some feat to save others or earn glory.

In those times he had promised to be more careful, and when in the hazy grasp of bloodlust, reminded himself what awaited him back at camp, but now, he had nothing more to lose, so throwing himself into every skirmish and battle was a grateful distraction.

He had been dreaming of something like this for months from his sickbed, and Greene reluctantly gave in and let him join the fight. 

The august air was thick and heavy with humidity, most soldiers from the north wiped their brow with sweat, but Laurens was native to these South Carolina lands, and the heat was not of abnormalcy. Laurens took a deep breath of air, grateful to be back on American soil, even if he hadn’t been to France in more than a year, the stench of a corrupted monarchy and egotistical aristocrats left him exhausted of the professionalism. 

He had been grateful to return to his military family as General Washington’s aide de camp. 

Even though A-

Laurens took another deep breath, a headache already producing a steady drumbeat at his temples. 

So much had happened in the last two years. 

He was a fool to believe that everything would stay the same. 

“General Gist!” He approached the Major, his steps brisk and quick, stifling the low murmurs in his head. Gist turned, his face focused and hard, the face of a General entering battle. 

Yorktown flashes across his mind. He shoved it back with all his will.  _ Not now, not now, not now,  _ **_please_ ** . 

“Lieutenant-Colonel!” Gist greeted, his face lighting up slightly. They firmly shook hands as Laurens glanced around the busy war camp. It bustled with soldiers preparing for battle: scurrying around with excitement and purpose, reloading guns, strapping on uniforms, and distractedly writing last-minute letters for their wives and sisters. 

“We were glad to receive word of your speedy betterment from illness, your talents on the battlefield may be crucial this day”

Laurens nodded.

“Grateful to be back, sir, I am at your disposal” he saluted. An officer at Gist’s side whispered something to him and Gist smiled at Laurens, or to the extent the serious man could smile.

“Colonel Laurens, your men are itching for a fight, while you're here you can be beside them, yes?” Laurens nodded again.

“We will be with light infantry and attacking at daybreak tomorrow” Then Gist turned, a weary look on his face. A look George Washington used to wear late nights in Valley Forge, looking over the Aides as they bent over their papers, murmuring phrases and the occasional jest to maintain spirit. 

It was no use to wish for the past, for it was a dangerous thing, a dangerous thing to fall into the deep pit of lost time. 

Swallowing, Laurens headed off into his side of the camp, where his battalion was parked, dark-skinned men milling about with rowdy jokes, carrying their weapons. 

“Laurens!” A familiar voice shouted out to him. A smile ghosted upon Laurens’ lips.

“Tadeusz!” Laurens greeted as the man hurried toward him, his face a mask of surprise and confusion. They collided and shook hands heartily.

“What are you doing here Colonel? I thought I told you to stay away from this fight in your condition” Laurens felt his second surveying him, taking in his state and eyeing his mannerisms. 

He didn’t admit it, but Tadeusz had become fairly close to Laurens, making sure he ate at the proper times and slept for more than a few hours a day. 

However, Laurens didn’t let him get too close. He had made that mistake long ago and was still paying the consequences.

“I’m sure you’re not my mother, as you are acting like a hen, squawking after he chicks” Laurens snorted as the other man raised an eyebrow.

“Come on” Tadeusz loosely saluted. “You’re men are waiting for you” 

\--------------

A year of disappointments would be made up with some stolen battlefield glory now. Laurens was sure of it as the British arrived at Combahee River first, and Gist’s forces arrived sometime around dusk.

He sat, checking his rifles, helping out in any way he could, just to avoid sitting still. Before battle, having to sit still had always been torture for Laurens. 

It was a restless itch that started jangling his nerves, starting with his leg shaking anxiously and usually ending in a near-death experience.

_“You always seem to cheat death by a few inches, stop that!”_ _The laughing voice with violet eyes would say while typing a tight bandage around his injury or forcing water down his throat._

He needed a command, something to put his mind into his old friend, bloodlust. 

To prove that he was not just a  _ worthless sodomite _ . 

He knew his companions knew of his impulsive behavior on the battlefield and rolled their eyes as he tried to seek glory.

It was different now. Battle was a distraction instead of an ambition. It was addictive to slip into your old habits.

Laurens used to fight the darkness, but now he embraced it.

He still fought for his country and the freedom she deserved, he still threw himself into the fight for his name to be ushered at campfires of his miraculous feats and glory that ended in sacrificial death, but now it was also for escapism. To let himself loose, unhinged as he took town man after man, with an excuse for the manic gleam in his eye. 

“General” Laurens saluted as Gist turned toward him, candlelight burning fiercely as the man hunched over a map. 

“Colonel Laurens, what do you require?” Gist sighed, not of expiration, but the well known deep breath of exhaustion. Laurens knew that breath very well. 

“As your most obedient servant, as I ask for a command to attack, daybreak approaches most quickly and I would hope to find a place in the glory we shall steal in a few hours time” Gist looked over the map again.

“I appreciate yourself at my disposal, in fact, I need someone to lead some fifty troops I will detach, I was going to have Captain McKennan lead them, but as you are very available…?” Laurens almost jumped for joy. 

“Many thanks, General, I will further await instruction, your need for me is deeply gratifying to my humble persons, for as you know I haven’t seen a lick of action these past months” Gist smiled at him.

“I hope you seek whatever awaits you, Colonel, dismissed”

Laurens steps were a bit lighter as he made his way back to his tent. He would be out there, fighting alongside fifty troops at his disposal, weapon in his hand. 

With this opportunity, they will tell the story of tonight. Laurens would make sure of it.

\--------------

August 27, 1782

Chehaw Neck, 3:00 AM

They proceeded to Chehaw Neck before the sun rose. Darkness was their invisibility cloak as they crept past plantation after plantation, the air still as soldiers slipped through the land, the only sound was the rustling of the wind or the clink of weapons against uniform. 

Laurens felt his vision clear, his focus sharpened and his mind became alert. It was as if battle awakened his slumbering senses and his body could feel the enemy on the battlefield. It was exhilarating and as Laurens narrowed his eyes, everything before washed away, and the only thing that mattered now, was this battle. 

They approached the north bank of the river, coolness from the water rippling off and sending a chill down Laurens’ spine. He welcomed it, letting it rejuvenate him. 

Scouts ahead were starting to return, their faces wild as they raced toward him. 

“Colonel Laurens” One saluted. A young wiry boy with sandy hair that could be mistaken as ginger stood tall before him, his face set like stone.

“Report?”

“One hundred-fifty redcoats positioned along the road, hidden under a clump of underbrush, sir, practically waiting to attack if we marched that way” Laurens cursed, biting his lip. 

“Any word from Gist?” 

“No Sir, but the British seem to have already boarded their ships, General Gist’s lookouts didn’t depart until later this morning Sir, but we have already sent men back to him for cavalry”

Laurens knew he had two options. Wait for Gist, only two miles away, most likely already heading down with reinforcements, or assault and overturn the battle when Gist’s calvary men arrive.

He looked back toward the men, their eyes blinking up at him, waiting for him to order something. 

He felt his nerves jitter. 

A sparkling smile and violet eyes flashed across his mind.

He couldn’t wait any longer.

“Men!” He called, his voice strong and unwavering. “You have waited long enough for the glory we shall take on this early morn” 

\--------------

He had ordered an immediate assault. 

Soldiers charged the redcoats, their jackets flying in the soft wind, blending into the blanket of darkness, a stark contrast to the flaming redcoats, a stain against the sky. 

The roar of battle quieted in Laurens’ ears as his blood thrummed. He rode upon his mare, her sleek body obeying his every command with grace as he tore town men. 

Bloodlust sang throughout his body as he waded through bodies, firing his musket and swiping with his bayonet.

He was a hurricane of death. From the outside, he caused chaos, destruction, and death, but in the eye of the hurricane there was quiet, a peace Laurens’ could never put his finger on. 

“They’re opening fire!” a deep voice bellowed from somewhere along the river. 

Laurens grit his teeth as he watched men fall from their horses. 

He would have glory. He would be remembered.  _ He was not a worthless sodomite _

“Laurens! Watch out!” someone yelled at him. His heart hammered against his chest as he turned to see who called out to him. His sleek, soldier’s instincts screamed at him to duck, but his cruel mind pulled him down into the darkness.

_ “Laurens! Watch out!” Alexander called as Laurens ducked a mean punch. The alcohol intoxicated his thoughts, making him slur his words, but it did not affect his instincts in a fight.  _

_ The drunken bastards had been campaigning against negros fighting in the war.  _

_ Naturally, Laurens stepped in, exchanging a few words he couldn’t remember, moments after, but he did remember swinging first.  _

_ Alexander was at his back, fighting the brute’s companion with fever, the smaller man like a bullet, small but destructive.  _

_ Laurens’s lip was split, the wind was knocked out of him and he was pretty sure he was bleeding from a scratch at his temple, but his opponent looked worse.  _

_ “What in God’s name is happening?” The smooth voice of a Frenchman called out, stepping in from the cold and into the tavern.  _

_ Laurens felt himself get tackled by a large shape and restrained. _

_ “Let me go!” he strained against the strong arms of the Maquis. “I can take him!” Lafayette looked down at Laurens, his eyes conveying the message. _

_ “Yes, but he can’t take you anymore and he’ll be dead,” he said pointedly. Laurens glanced over as the bastard stumbled out of the tavern, tripping over himself, his buddy barely standing.  _

_ When he craned his neck he saw Alexander being held back by Lafayette’s companion. Wait, was that Meade? _

_ “For God’s sake Hammie, it’s over!” Meade was crying over Alexander’s protests. It was comical. Laurens cracked a smile, blood dribbling down his chin.  _

_ When Lafayette was satisfied Laurens wasn’t going to go kill the man, he released him, as did Meade.  _

_ When Laurens turned to Alexander, his auburn hair was askew, his eyes were wild and his uniform was hanging off his body.  _

_ Yet, he was beautiful.  _

_ Alexander’s eyes roved over Laurens’ body, and with a slight jerk of a head, it sent heat flushing down Laurens’ body. _

_ The head movement was so slight, most would perceive it as a head tilt to get a better view of his surroundings, but Laurens knew better. He knew that look.  _

_ It was always directed at him. Sometimes from across the room during meetings or other times after a particularly risky mission, but it always ended up with Laurens pushed against the wall and Alexander’s lips on his.  _

_ “I’ve got him Lafayette, I’ll take him back to headquarters and get this fool all patched up” Alexander winked and wiped blood off of his chin as Lafayette snorted. _

_ “I do not know who is more reckless mes amis, you or Laurens. Never a dull moment, jamais un moment ennuyeux” Lafayette rolled his eyes as he took a long glup of his drink. _

_ “C’mon you” Alexander grabbed Laurens, half dragging him out the door as pain caught up to Laurens, his lip now throbbing.  _

_ As they walked back to the encampment, Alexander’s fingertips brushed Laurens, ending electricity up his body.  _

_ “Thank you for sticking up for me” Laurens finally said, his voice a rasp. They reached headquarters, on the far side of the building where no one went. It faced the desolate wood. Alexander stopped walking and turned behind him as if to check that Laurens wasn’t talking to someone behind him. _

_ Tentatively, Alexander raised a hand and cupped Laurens's cheek. Laurens leaned into it.  _

_ It was only for a moment before Alexander shoved Laurens against the building, latching his lips onto Laurens’ _

_ He felt completely undone as they desperately grappled at each other, each movement sending electrifying jolts down his body.  _

_ Everything else in the world turned to a blur as Alexander sucked on Laurens’ jaw, urgently fusing their hips together. Sensing what he wanted, Laurens shoved a knee up so that Alexander could grind against something.  _

_ He felt Alexander’s hardness grind into his leg which made him all the more aroused.  _

_ “Please” Laurens keened, bucking his hips up as Alexander nibbled on his throat. Alexander looked up at him, his pupils huge and blown with lust. _

_Alexander frowned and stood up_ _straight._

_ “I can’t, my dear” Laurens furrowed his eyebrows. _

_ “Alexander?” _

_ “You’re not here, I’m not here. This isn’t real” Laurens gaped as the thickly wooded trees faded into sand, tents morphed into soldiers and the building he was pressed against became his faithful mare _ . 

The warped memory faded away, just soldier's instincts taking over, ducking. 

Laurens felt a surge of relief pass him as he seemed to duck whatever incoming danger barreled toward him. 

He reached for his rifle when the world tilted sideways.  _ No _ , he pleaded,  _ Not another flashback _ .

He awaited the spiraling darkness, but the ground came crashing toward his face. 

_ What in God’s name was going on? _ Then, like a gunshot, it hit him. 

His horse has been shot. His faithful girl. 

She bucked from the floor as he tried shimming out from under her. When he ducked, the warning must not have been for him to take cover, but for him to  _ move _ . 

He knew she was dead when she finally stilled, her body still warm. 

He cursed himself. If the man warning him didn’t send him into the flashback, or if he had been stronger and fought it sooner, he would not be lying on the ground, under a rapidly cooling corpse of a horse, vulnerable to any-

Laurens felt his body go numb. It was only for a fraction of a second and then raw pain washed over him. 

He roared as a fresh wave of new pain swept over him. He felt his heart speed up again, his breathing short as panic threatened to secede him.

No. He couldn’t panic. He had to locate the wound. 

Laurens lay in a position where his legs were trapped under his horse, but his hands and torso were free, a cruel fate, for the weight of his fine horse pinned him so he couldn’t break free.

That eliminated a possible injury to anything below the torso. His hand traveled up his body, past his ribcage, chest, collarbone and-

Pain reverberated through his body, sending him convulsing on the muddy ground. \

His neck. He had been shot in his gods-damned  _ neck _ . 

No soldier survived a wound like this. 

His breathing became rapid as he fell into panic. Red lined his vision as he desperately tried to pull himself from under his horse. 

It was almost comical. Comical how he begged for a glorious death on the battlefield, but when It came time, Laurens became desperate for another breath, another day, another  _ hour, please not now.  _

Laurens could already see it.  _ Lieutenant-Colonel John Laurens, dead by a stray bullet because he could not keep his own demons at bay. What does his military family think of him? How proud must his father be? _

Darkness washed over his vision as he felt the blood seeping through his clothes. It stained his skin as he tried to stem the flow.

He still had so much time. He was supposed to emancipate his father’s slaves. He was supposed to-

Laurens drew a blank. There had never been an “after” the war. He had always known he’d die on the battlefield. 

Yet, something inside him desperately clung to life. 

But what was left for him?

_ Abolition _ . He knew the long road to abolishing slavery would go beyond his time on Earth, even if he lived to be an old man.

_ To see the end of the war _ . And then what? Laurens despised politics. The poisonous manipulation, lies, and deceit. He knew Alexander would take his place in the government, but was that what Laurens would do?

_ Your family.  _ Martha was dead. His daughter was in England, taken care of by her mother’s side of the family. Frances would be better without him. He was a sorry excuse for a father, living or dead. He hadn’t spoken to his siblings in years and his father- Well his father loved him in a way that hurt Laurens. 

_ Alexander. Alexander waits for you.  _ No. No. No. No. He ended it long ago. Why is he still stuck in the past? He was married, happily married, and in  _ love _ . Even with an infant. Something Laurens would never be able to gift him. 

Laurens choked back a sob.  _ Gods, Alexander.  _ He would be devastated. 

There was so much to say to him, so much to-

There wasn’t though. They had said everything they wanted to. Laurens still had his regrets, but Alexander knew. He always did. 

The world blurred as the pain kept Laurens in its grip. The sounds of gunshots and cries of men faded away as the only sound was the spratic thumping of his heartbeat. 

He wasn’t ready to die. Not like this. And he would admit it, he was scared.

He had been ready to die at Yorktown. Giving his life to the surrendering of the British in a heroic way. 

But he survived. He survived physically. 

_ “Don’t you dare, John Laurens. Never leave me you fool”  _ Alexander had said, the day as he lay on the floor of the storage tent, sobbing, a fired gun inches away, still hot. 

He had promised. Promised to never pull something like that again. 

_ I’m sorry, dear boy.  _ Laurens thought as his vision wavered.  _ I’m sorry for everything _ . 

Laurens took a shaky breath, interrupted by blood being spat out of his mouth. The blood flooding from his neck wasn’t clotting. 

He rolled over as much as he could so he faced the sky as dawn approached. The grass was wet and dewy beneath him. The air was warm and moist as the twinkling stars faded and the sun painted streaks of blue, purple, pink, and yellow across the sky. 

“I may not live to see our glory” Laurens murmured, his head pounding. 

“But I will gladly join the fight,” a sob rose from his chest as he looked over his life, his memories. So much bad, so much death and blood, but there was also some light, like the moments he and Lafayette laughed until they cried, or George Washington’s face as the British surrendered, and the way Alexander’s face lit up like a candle in a darkened room. 

So he remembered. He remembered and remember and remembered. Every stolen moment between him and Alexander, every chaste kiss, and every passion filled moment. He remembered the fear of discovery and elation of his love. 

He also remembered Martha. The way he dark waves frizzed around her head creating a halo, the way she gave him soft smiles and would smooth his hair back. The way he used to lay in her lap as she listened to him rant. The way her eyes seemed to be as bright as stars when she smiled. The way she accepted him for who he was, even though it hurt her more than anyone. 

“And when our children tell our story” he would be remembered. He may have not died a glorious death, but rather a shameful one due to a stray bullet and sheer recklessness; nevertheless, he knew he would be remembered. 

“They’ll tell the story of…” Their anthem. Lafayette, Alexander, and him singing the song off-tune, and drunk celebrating. The way they would murmur it before battle. 

He felt like he was falling. 

Was this how Jemmy felt?

He closed his eyes, the last thing he would see would be the rising sun as she brought a new day. 

“Tonight” he whispered. 

He felt himself slipping away, like sweaty hands holding on by a thread. 

_ Take your time, Alexander, I’ll see you on the other side _ . 

The last thing he thought as he drifted into eternal darkness was Alexander and his face, his smile, his eyes, the way he talked and the way his passion pulled Laurens in. 

He smiled, the image of Alexander’s lips on his as his consciousness drifted away and he became one with the darkness. 

**Author's Note:**

> that. was. so. freaking. hard. to. write
> 
> Okay so here are my thoughts: I never intended to write Laurens' death (for my mental stability and yours) but after writing Hamilton's death (a oneshot I posted go check it out) I realized I kinda needed to write it. It's such a big topic to tackle and I'm pretty sure I did the most research for this one so I could get everything correct, I scanned letters, timelines, etc to make this as correct down to the battle tactics and dates.
> 
> As I wrote it, it just kept getting bigger and longer, and I didn't want it to be a quick write, but something that was well written and thought out, idk because it was really hard for me to get into's Laurens' head for his last thoughts. For A.Ham I knew that he didn't want to go and wanted to keep fighting to live and stuff, but with Laurens he lowkey was very suicidal, but still had a lot of untied up ends. I tried not to ignore his PTSD and depession, so I tired to tie in his huge role in Yorktown and stuff. LOL, I did my best fam, I definitely have room to improve
> 
> This was my most historical accurate fic so here are my sources:  
> https://ltcol-laurens.tumblr.com/post/180567527886/timeline#:~:text=John%20Laurens%20Timeline,-28th%20October%201754&text=21st%20July%201771%3A%20Henry%2C%20John,until%20continuing%20to%20New%20York.&text=9th%20October%201771%3A%20Laurenses%20reach%20Falmouth%2C%20Cornwall%2C%20England.&text=7th%20August%201774%20John%20and,to%20visit%20Henry%20in%20London.
> 
> French Translation:  
> Jamais un moment ennuyeux = Never a dull moment
> 
> I'm on tumblr! Check out my profile [@crazychloe08](https://crazychloe08.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I'm also looking for a beta reader! Hit me up if you're interested!
> 
> I'm always looking to improve my writing so comment what you liked and what I can improve on!
> 
> Thank you so much for the support! Stay safe and love you all mwah mwah mwah :mmmmmm


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